


Have It Your Way

by themetaphornextdoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crack, Episode: s06e20 The Man Who Would Be King, Gen, Gen Fic, Kink Meme, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphornextdoor/pseuds/themetaphornextdoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Castiel could see immediately the mistake he’d made."<br/>(Prompt: Cas pleads for a sign. He gets what he prayed for.)<br/>Gen, G, Crack, Humor. 743 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have It Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the CastielFest Two Weeks In Purgatory [CommentFic Meme](http://castielfest.livejournal.com/27322.html).'  
> Spoilers: Up to and including 6.20

 

 

> _There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way."_ \- C.S. Lewis

 

 

The snow crunched under Castiel's shoes as he shifted on the cold bench.

"Am I doing the right thing?" he pleaded. "Am I on the right path? You have to tell me, you have to give me a sign. Give me a sign!"

Only stillness and silence surrounded him, turning the air even colder. Castiel had never felt so alone in his existence and the emptiness was overwhelming, crushing.

He dropped his head and closed his eyes.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to do… whatever I must…"

He knew it was pointless, deep down he knew no one was listening. He yearned to be proven wrong, but God was gone and the path was his to choose alone.

The responsibility felt stifling.

For long minutes he couldn't find the energy to move. He stared blankly at his hands and wished he knew how this whole mess was going to end.

If it would end.

As he finally rose, a sound made him pause. It was like rushing air, quiet at first, but growing rapidly louder as though something was approaching at a great speed.

Castiel struggled to locate the direction of the noise. He frowned, spinning to search his surroundings, but found nothing.

At the last moment he looked above him and saw an object of some kind falling from the sky. It seemed heavy and had obviously originated from a great height, gathering speed as it dropped. The noise rapidly rose in volume and pitch as it approached.

He stumbled backwards just in time. The object missed his head by mere inches and impacted the ground with a near deafening thump. Stone connected painfully with the back of his knees, knocking his feet from under him. Startled, he tumbled gracelessly backwards and over the bench to sprawl face down in the snow on the other side.

He might have laughed had he not collected a mouthful of ice trying to get his breath back.

Wiping his face, Castiel pushed himself to his feet and skirted the bench to inspect the small crater; exactly where he had been standing just a few seconds before.

He felt a bright flare of hope as he realised he'd been wrong. His Father was listening - because the only thing this could be was a sign, the answer he had prayed for. While he desperately wanted to see, at the same time he found himself terrified.

What if he'd been wrong? What if his father was angry and he was to be punished? Had he gone too far and lost his only friends in his ignorance and pride?

He drew in a deep, steadying breath and carefully knelt beside the tunnel shaped hole. He glimpsed something bright, but it was too far down to make out. Reaching in, he managed to close his fingers around the edge. It loosened with some effort and he eventually freed it, setting it before him to examine it closer.

What he saw made his heart stop.

Castiel had asked for a sign, begged, in fact. And God had answered his prayers. God had sent him this and from it Castiel could see immediately the mistake he'd made.

His shoulders drooped. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes in resignation.

God had given him a sign.

It was a sign.

Literally.

It looked just like one of the hundreds of different road signs he'd seen littering the highways, streets and countryside during his time on earth – the one currently resting in the snow before him was triangular, each edge close to thirteen inches in length. It was yellow on one side, the paint scratched off in places, particularly along the borders. A black margin just inside the edges further accentuated its shape. Two small, irregular holes pierced the slightly beaten and worn metal; from nails, Castiel guessed.

But in the center there was… nothing.

Castiel knew all signs had a message of some sort. That was their purpose, after all. But this was a seemingly pointless scrap of tin with nothing marked on it.

He sighed and shook his head gently.

As ambiguous and blank as the 'sign' was, the message his Father had intended it to convey was actually quite clear.

Perfectly, devastatingly clear.

"Castiel, my dear child ... be more specific."


End file.
